Sickness
by ItsTheGlasses
Summary: When the Doctor becomes sick with a mystery virus, Clara has no idea how to help him. Whouffaldi story, lots of fluff
1. Sick

"You want to go home now, I take it?" The Doctor smiled. They had just been to an ice planet, where the Doctor had been captured by the aliens that lived there because he had 'offended them'. Neither of them knew how he had offended them, but they had eventually released him, but not before he had been kept in an ice cell for hours until he was shivering and his lips were turning blue. Nevertheless, they had both found the whole situation quite amusing, and were on their way back to Clara's house.

Clara looked up at the sound of the Doctor coughing quietly into his hand.

"Doctor, are you okay?" She asked, concerned.

"Yes, I'm fine." The Doctor said, voice a little scratchy. He then sneezed twice, and shivered. Clara put down her bag and walked over to him.

"Doctor. You don't sound fine to me." The Doctor tried to hide another cough, but Clara had already made up her mind. "You can come home with me. I'll look after you!" The Doctor seemed to try and make a little noise of protest, but his throat was becoming increasingly sore, so all that came out was a faint sound.

This is just embarrassing... pull yourself together, Doctor! He thought to himself.

As the TARDIS landed, Clara took the Doctor's arm and led him out of the ship and into her flat. She took him straight to her bed, and sat down on it with him. He looked at her, unsure what he was supposed to do.

"Well get in then." Clara gestured to the covers. She pulled them back so he could get in easier. As he lifted his legs up onto the bed, she stopped him by abruptly grabbing hold of his knee.

"Shoes off. No mud on my bed!" The Doctor sighed, and made a dramatic show of untying his laces and dropping his shoes onto the floor. Clara just shook her head at his antics. He lay down, pulling the duvet over him, lying awkwardly and stiffly next to where she was sitting. He turned over a few second later, and then again. And again.

"Doctor, you might want to take off your jacket and stuff and maybe change into something that's actually comfortable?" The Doctor nodded and made to go into the TARDIS, but Clara stopped him. "I'll get it, you stay there." As she left to go hunt for something for him to wear, the Doctor sat up slowly. He looked around him, at Clara's room. She had makeup covering a desk, and a bookshelf filled with books. He wondered if he could just leave in the TARDIS when she wasn't looking, but then again, her bed was very comfy, and maybe he would warm up if he stayed here?

When Clara returned, she found him shivering. He was just sitting there, not trying to stay warm by pulling the duvet around him or anything. Little did she know, the Doctor was just trying to not look weak or needy, but he was doubting whether it had actually been a good idea or not, now. She shook her head, amused but concerned for him. She handed him the loose clothes that the TARDIS had placed for her to find.

"I'll leave the room, okay? Tell me when you're done changing." Clara left the Doctor in her bedroom, waiting outside the door for him. She hadn't actually seen the Doctor sick until now, not even in the previous incarnation. And she found herself admitting that it was really quite cute. The expression on his face before he sneezed was adorable, and when he was shivering from cold, she just wanted to give him a big hug and make him better. Although, she wouldn't mind seeing him vulnerable like this more often, as he didn't insult her at all when he was feeling weak. Just then, the Doctor opened the door and told her he was done changing. She followed him over to the bed, as he got in and then looked expectantly at her, as if to say, well now what? Clara chuckled to herself, as the clothes he had changed out of were just thrown on the floor. The Doctor was just sitting there again, shivering and looking at her, waiting. He probably didn't know what you do when you're sick, so he was waiting for her to tell him. He was hopeless at all things domestic, and Clara secretly thought that just made him cuter.

"Lie down, Doctor, put as many blankets as you'd like on you." Clara handed him lots of blankets she had taken from her cupboard. He just put them on top of him, still folded up. Clara laughed. He must know what to do with them, right?

"Doctor, you do know they aren't meant to stay folded, don't you?" She said, trying to keep the laughter out of her voice.

"Yes. But my fingers are stiff and I can't do much with them." The Doctor offered his fingers to Clara, and she took them in her hand. His whole hand was ice cold, no wonder it was stiff. Clara straightened out the blankets for him, tucking them under him. He squirmed as her fingers nudged his side, and she was sure she caught a glimpse of a smile on his face. She didn't know what it was for. Perhaps this regeneration was particularly sensitive or ticklish, or maybe he was just happy that she was looking after him while he was sick; she couldn't tell. Either way, she found it quite sweet.

When she came back to check on him a little while later, she found him cuddling one of her blankets to his chest, but when she felt his head again, it was ice cold. Horrified, she shook his shoulders, trying to see if there was something seriously wrong with him.

"Doctor? Doctor are you okay?" She clicked her fingers in his face, but he still didn't respond. Clara started to panic, tears rolling down her cheeks. "Doctor! DOCTOR!" But the Doctor didn't even flinch at her loud voice, and if it wasn't for the steady twin heartbeat she could feel, she would have thought he was dead. What could she do? What was wrong with him? If she didn't know that, how could she help him? Answer was, of course, she couldn't.


	2. Am I doing it right?

Clara sat for about an hour by his bedside, just watching him, worrying. She knew it wasn't good for her, but she wouldn't have been able to sleep anyway, while he was obviously suffering. Shivering violently, the Doctor kept flinching in his sleep, and then he would twist as though something was hurting him.

Clara wished that she knew what she could do to help him, but for now all she could do was try to give him what he wanted, although that was quite difficult when he was sleeping. After more violent thrashing from the Doctor, she decided she should try again to wake him up, but she didn't know if that was for her sake or his. She couldn't bear to see him like this, and she knew it must be horrible for him too.

"Doctor." She said, shaking his shoulder gently. He didn't respond, so she repeated the action, slightly harder.

"Doctor!" She called a little louder, feeling his forehead. It was burning hot with fever, so she ran to the bathroom. Returning, she pressed a small folded cold towel to his head, and he finally woke up. A small whimpering noise escaped his lips, and he looked scared. He reached out his hand for her, and she took it. Clara had never seen him like this, depending on her for comfort, but right now, she didn't mind. Sitting down next to him, she placed one hand on his back, rubbing up and down soothingly, until he calmed down. He opened his mouth, but his throat felt like it was on fire, so he closed it again.

"Doctor, are you okay? Do you need me to get you anything?" He shook his head, then moved her hand off him. Attempting to get out of the bed, the Doctor pushed the covers away from him. Clara didn't know what to do, was he meant to stay in bed, or keep moving? He slid his feet out of bed and onto the floor, before standing up. His legs felt shaky, but he stepped forward anyway. He tried to head towards the TARDIS, but he had to lean against the wall for support before he was even half way there.

"Doctor, I really think you should lie down again, you don't look too good..." She reached for his arm, but he shook her off.

"I don't need your help, Clara, I'll be going now!" He snapped, walking away from the wall a bit too quickly. He suddenly felt very dizzy, too dizzy for his liking.

"Clara, the room is spinning, I think there's something wrong with the gravity! It must be the TARDIS!" She had to quirk a little smile at that, but her face fell as his eyes fluttered closed, and he fell to the floor. She managed to partially catch him before he hit the floor, but now she was stuck with the unfortunate task of getting him to the bed, from the floor. Pulling his arms up, she moved them so that they hung loosely around her neck, over her shoulders, then put her arms around his torso, and lifted. She did lift him a bit, but he was just too awkwardly positioned for her to be able to get a good grip on him.

After around fifteen minutes of struggling, Clara eventually managed to get him onto the bed again. Now, she was back to square one. What did she do for the best? As the Time Lord's eyes flickered open, he looked up at Clara. Sniffling, he pushed himself into a sitting position against the headboard. His eyes were red and tired, and he was coughing and sneezing lots.

"How long have I been asleep?" Yep, congested too, she thought, adding to the mental list of his symptoms.

"Well about an hour and a half, but then you woke up and staggered round the room, then fell over. I had to drag you back onto the bed." The Doctor just blinked at her as though it was no big deal.

"Now tell me, what's wrong with you, and how do I help you?" Clara asked, worried for the answer. What if there was no cure? What if it was some alien illness that she was going to catch too?

"Well..." The Doctor shifted, then looked away, refusing to meet her gaze. "Erm, it's an illness that Time Lords get, if we've been on the move for too long without really stopping, and we happen to become weak for a small period of time, and that's when it starts. It's our body fighting back against the exposure to too many different things, no regular, same things to go back to, nothing they're used to. Basically, lack of a home or place to stay. And as for how you help..." He shifted uncomfortably again. "You just... Keep me here. In other words, I need domesticity..." Despite looking quite embarrassed, the Doctor was actually worried about what her response would be to this.

"Doesn't your TARDIS count?" She asked, looking at the blue box parked in the corner.

"No, she's changing constantly on the inside too, even if it doesn't look like it."

"Well then... Yeah, you can stay with me."


	3. I've Had Enough

The Doctor kept telling Clara that he was getting better, but he still looked terrible. Clara wasn't convinced. He had bloodshot eyes, a red nose and he was unbelievably pale. She was getting a little bit fed up of him; all he did was sit in bed, whining about whatever happened to be bothering him.

"Clara? I'm cold, I need another blanket!" He called, just as she sat down to try and relax.

"Oh Doctor, can't you get it yourself for once? You know where I keep the blankets." She sighed, taking a sip of tea from the mug she was holding.

"But I'm cold, so if I get out of bed I'll just be more cold!" The Doctor protested, before realising that she wasn't going to get it for him. He slid out of bed, and shakily wandered over to the cupboard. Trying to pull a blanket from the huge pile of them in the cupboard, he ended up accidentally pulling them all out, where they landed on him. He lost his balance, and fell to the floor.

There was a muffled cry of "Clara!" coming from her room, so Clara reluctantly put down her tea and dragged herself over to see what was wrong now. To her surprise and amusement, the Doctor was lying on the floor, with a heap of blankets on top of him. She giggled, pushed the blankets off him, then helped him up.

"Really Doctor? It's not that hard to get one blanket out of a cupboard, is it? Or are Time Lords somehow allergic to doing it themselves or something?" She said sarcastically, pushing him back towards the bed. Covering him with the blanket, she put one hand on his forehead. He felt hot to her, but he insisted that Clara's heating system must be faulty, as he was still cold.

"Doctor, you're sick, which means that you feel cold, even if it's actually warm. So stop complaining about my heating, because it isn't faulty, I checked." The Doctor ignored her, and shivered, as if to try and prove his own point.

"I'm bored, I need something to do!" He lay down, then sat up again, taking a drink of water from the cup next to the bed.

"Go to sleep Doctor, you look horrible and tired." Gently pushing his shoulders down, she pulled the covers further up over his chest, and tucked him in, much to his annoyance.

"I don't need to sleep, I need to get up and do something useful!" The Doctor tried to sit up again, but she pushed him back down.

"No, Doctor, just stop being so stubborn and let me help you! Go to sleep!" Clara flounced out of the room, shutting and locking the door behind her.

Two hours later, Clara decided that the Doctor must have gotten enough sleep by now, so she went to check on him. As she opened the door, she could see him sitting on the floor, a blanket around his shoulders. He was dismantling something, and when she moved closer, she could see that it was her alarm clock, or rather, what was left of her alarm clock. Looking around her, she saw that he had taken apart almost every bit of technology she had on her room, and he had gone through all of her belongings.

"Doctor! What do you think you're doing?!" She marched over, and snatched the clock from his hands.

"Well, I was bored, so I thought I would improve your stuff?" He tried to reach for the clock to take it back, but she put it on the side, where he couldn't reach it from the floor.

"Improve? Improve?! Do you really think that THIS is 'improved'?" She pushed a lump of dull metal, that she was sure used to resemble a little cat figure, into his hand. The Doctor looked down at the metal, then back up at her, and nodded slowly. Clara's eyes widened.

"Seriously? SERIOUSLY Doctor? I let you stay here, so you could get better from your little problem, and this is how you repay me?" Once again, the Doctor looked from the metal to her.

"I was just trying to make all your stuff better..."

Clara's eyes softened: it was just too hard to stay mad at him! What was she going to do with him for the next week? Or two? Or- a horrible thought struck her- month? Who knew how long he was going to have to stay with her? Putting one hand to her head, she sighed, and sat down. The Doctor looked concerned, and he tried to comfort her by smiling a little. Clara just looked at him, and imagined him smiling like that every day, for a month. She was convinced she would go insane!

As if to make matters worse, the Doctor had started to get even worse symptoms of a cold or flu now; he was constantly sniffling, and complaining of headaches. He sneezed twice, then moaned in discomfort. Clara just threw a tissue box at him, and it hit him on the head.

"Ow! That was mean, Clara!" The Doctor whined, then threw the tissue box back at her. It knocked the cup out of her hand, and onto the floor. It didn't smash, but water spilled all over the carpet. Clara's eyes flickered to the Doctor's, in a death glare, and she growled.

"That's it! You're really going to get it now!" She stalked towards the Doctor, and snatched his sonic screwdriver out of his hand, chucking it carelessly to the floor. The Doctor gulped, as he edged away from her. He didn't know what he was in store for, but he doubted it would be anything good.

Ah omg I'm so so sorry it took so long to post this, I've been having a hard time lately. If anyone's willing to listen, I'd really appreciate it, just PM me if you can be bothered.

Also, I haven't actually decided what Clara's going to do yet... I need ideas :/


End file.
